


Love & Pizza

by Insomnia_Productions



Series: The Rat Revolution (Mat/Rand Drabbles) [8]
Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, I wrote this primarily to deal with my inordinate fear of calling to order pizza, M/M, Mat is also a Disaster but in a drastically different way, Rand is a Disaster, and also to procrastinate on my Math IA, but let's not think about that, low-key based on a twitter post ngl, they're basically two sides of the same idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-08
Updated: 2019-10-08
Packaged: 2020-12-04 02:10:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20946725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insomnia_Productions/pseuds/Insomnia_Productions
Summary: Twenty-nine minutes later, Rand is still curled into a ball at the foot of his bed with his face in his hands.Oh Light,he thinks, over and over again.Oh Light oh Light I can’t believe I just said “I love you” to the pizza guy.Or: Rand accidentally says "I love you" while ordering pizza. The result is... notquitewhat he expected.





	Love & Pizza

“So that’s one small pepperoni pizza, payment in cash?” 

The voice on the other end of the line crackles slightly; the signal in this neighborhood awful more often than not, and Rand has grown used to phone calls that sound like they belong in a bygone century. He nods his affirmation, before remembering that the man on the phone cannot see him. “Yes, that’s right.” 

“Cool, I’ll be over with your order in forty-five minutes,” the man says cheerfully. Then, after a beat, he adds, “If you give me a good Yelp review, I’ll get it to you in thirty.” 

“Um, sure. I can do that.” His wallet is in a drawer beside his bed. This time, Rand decides, he will get it out now, and keep it with him so that he isn’t scrambling to look for it when the pizza arrives, like last time. 

“Sweet! My name’s Mat Cauthon. Don’t forget to write it!” 

“I won’t,” Rand mumbles, distracted by his struggle to open the drawer. The thing has been broken for weeks. He really should get it fixed. 

“I’ll hold you to that. Alright, bye then!” 

“Bye,” Rand says. He’s almost got it. “Love you.” 

The drawer pops open. Rand smiles in satisfaction and hangs up the phone. He takes out his wallet and puts it in his pocket. 

.

.

.

Wait. 

.

.

.

Twenty-nine minutes later, Rand is still curled into a ball at the foot of his bed with his face in his hands. 

_ Oh Light,  _ he thinks, over and over again.  _ Oh Light oh Light I can’t believe I just said “I love you” to the pizza guy.  _

There’s nothing for it. He will have to leave the country. He’ll have to change his name, get a new passport, run away to Shara, and never look back. This is the end. 

The doorbell rings, the distant buzz searing like a fine thread of fire through the tornado currently making a wreckage of Rand’s sanity. Through the open window, Rand catches the scent of warm bread and ungodly amounts of cheese. Slowly, he unfurls himself and, wallet in hand, approaches the front door. His feet feel heavy and his heart is hammering. Never again will he attempt to multitask while on the phone. Although, he supposes, that won’t be a problem once he’s thrown his phone into the ocean and fled to Shara. 

He opens the door. And stares. 

On his porch stands a man perhaps half a head shorter than him, with unruly brown hair, warm brown eyes, and the wildest, most shit-eating grin Rand has ever seen. He is wearing a black tuxedo with a small red flower tucked into the chest pocket. In one hand, he holds a pizza box. In the other, an array of breadsticks interwoven with slightly limp daisies. 

Rand opens his mouth, blinks, and then closes it. The man’s grin widens and he pushes the breadsticks towards Rand. 

“I know they’re not the most impressive bouquet,” he drawls, “but I did promise you thirty minutes, and there’s only so much a man can do on short notice.” 

Rand feels a flush crawling up his cheeks, but he accepts the breadstick bouquet. It’s another few seconds before his brain starts functioning enough to say, “What.” 

The man—Mat Cauthon, Rand’s memory supplies—frowns almost comically. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten me? After such a heartfelt declaration? It’s not every day a complete stranger tells you they love you.” Some of Rand’s panic must show on his face, because Mat quickly adds, “Don’t worry. I don’t mind.” He drags his eyes from Rand’s head to his feet and back, and suddenly the grin is back in place. “I don’t mind at all.” 

“Um,” Rand says. His brain has put up a sign: _ Words aren’t working at the moment. Please come back later.  _

Mat laughs and profs the pizza box. “I took the liberty of upgrading this to a large, on me. Mind if I come in?” 

“Um,” Rand says again, and this time manages to get another word out. “Sure?” 

He moves to the side. Mat saunters into his house. The door swings shut. 

.

.

.

Later, from the comfort of his bed, Rand writes a five-paragraph essay for Mat’s Yelp review. Mat, curled up against him, dictates most of it. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> i told my dad about the premise of this fic and he laughed and said "we've all been there" 
> 
> ±
> 
> For the past few months, I've been feeling like I'm walking a very thin wire between sanity and complete mental breakdown, and recently I keep feeling like that wire is getting thinner. So have a dumb fluffy rat drabble! 
> 
> I've been sitting on this dumb thing for three weeks, but I finally found a little time to write it and I am, like, absurdly pleased about it. So, hey, if you liked it, maybe leave a comment! They always make my whole week :)
> 
> As always, thank you for reading and hmu @insomnia-productions on Tumblr to chat about WoT and cauthor!


End file.
